


Do It For The Greater Good

by RosevalleyNB



Series: Happy Christmas Collection [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Light-Hearted, Mistletoe, Public Pressure, Quidditch, Quidditch match, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8957698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosevalleyNB/pseuds/RosevalleyNB
Summary: Two parts bickering lovers, one part charity Quidditch match, and another part mistletoe. Put them in a large stadium, turn on the pressure, and sit back to enjoy the fireworks. OrJust another silly Christmas-themed story.





	

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the Holyhead Harpies’ many fans chanted in unison. They reinforced their demand by waving brilliantly coloured flares in sync with the rhythm of their chants. And the longer it took for their team’s Chaser to give into their demand, the louder the crowd became, stamping their feet and adding shrill whistles to the mix.

 

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” 

 

“Nope, not doing it,” Katie, the Chaser in question, muttered as she tightened her already firm grip on her broomstick. She fixed her gaze on her gloved hands and began humming a Christmas tune to drown out the hysterical jeering around her. Surely the referee would come to his senses and end this farce rather sooner than later. Right?

 

On the other side of the stadium, the supporters of the visiting team, The Tutshill Tornadoes, showed that they were well-matched against the screaming hysterics. The upstaging wasn’t meant to show the Harpies fans that they were better, if anything, it was a demonstration of their support. So, for every ‘kiss’, the Tornadoes supporters chanted ‘make up’ whilst clapping their hands and stamping their feet.

 

“Make up! Make up! Make up!”

 

“Not in a million years,” Marcus Flint growled and lunged at his teammate who had made the mistake of offering a simple solution to the problem they were currently facing. Like Katie earlier, though, Marcus didn’t get far before he was pulled back into his spot. His attempt to get away only fuelled the fire, and before he knew it, the screaming around him had risen to deafening proportions.

 

Both he and Katie were stuck high up in the air with nothing else to do than hover on their brooms and listen to the frenzied crowd surrounding them. The referee was of no help. In fact, the stocky, white-haired man had turned his back on the two Chasers and was too busy waving his arms to conduct the crowds as if he were conducting an orchestra.

 

“Barmy old git,” Katie hissed when the referee pointed his wand at his throat and joined in, his voice amplified by the Sonorus Charm. “Just what we needed.”

 

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed, “A right tosser he is. When I get my hands on him…” he trailed off, shaking his head in disgust at the scene before and around him.

 

“Then what?” Katie asked as she tried to remember the various torture spells she had once read about in a book from the Restricted Section at school. The Cruciatus Curse was mere child’s play compared to some of them.

 

“Oh, that’s easy. I’d chop off his bits and feed-” Marcus abruptly halted what he’d wanted to say and turned to Katie, scowling. “What’s it to you? I thought you weren’t speaking to me anymore.”

 

She huffed and rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not. I’m just polite because you can’t stop talking to me.”

 

“I’m not talking to you, you bint. I was agreeing with you. There's a difference. But you had to go and ask me questions.” He leant in when Katie mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. “What was that?”

 

She snorted in response and averted her head, again mumbling something as she did so. This time, though, Marcus understood the gist of it. He steered his broom closer so he could give her a piece of his mind. That little gesture caused the sold-out stadium to go wild. Exasperated, Marcus turned his well-practised death-glare to the crowds. Just yesterday, his glare would’ve had the ability to silence a room. No such luck today, unfortunately. Also, Katie slowly spinning her broom whilst flipping crows off didn’t help matters either.

 

“Don’t feed the trolls,” he scolded.

 

“I only see one troll, and he can starve for all I care,” she retorted as she began her second spin. “Besides, it’s your fault that we're in this situation, you know.”

 

“It’s not. If you hadn’t made such a spectacle of yourself last night, none of this would have happened,” he said, hinting at the debacle at the charity ball last night. He knew he had her there when she pressed her lips into a grim line and lowered her hands.

 

The Quidditch League’s Charity Ball was a yearly event held the night before Christmas Eve, followed by the charity matches played on Christmas Eve Day itself. The night had begun as usual; a long and boring speech by the League’s Chairwizard revealing the cause they were playing for this year and thanking the teams for cooperating. That was soon followed by food, drinks, and dancing. Nothing out of the ordinary.

 

However, somewhere between the drinks and dancing, Katie had decided that it would be a good idea to dump a glass of red wine over Marcus’ head and berate him for nearly ten minutes. And if that hadn’t been enough, she’d spent the remainder of the night dancing with Oliver Wood whilst sending Marcus her ugliest glares. All under the watchful eye of a handful reporters and their cameras, of course.

 

Although it was the first time that Marcus made it to the Daily Prophet’s front page, he would have preferred it to be because of his Quidditch achievements and not because of Katie’s misplaced jealousy.

 

“You know, I’m right,” he said with a laugh.

 

Katie schooled her expression to one of indifference and shrugged her shoulders. “No, you’re not. You made me do it.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You really need to ask that?” Katie rolled her eyes as if she hadn’t heard a more stupid question before. “I have two words for you: Lavender Brown.”

 

Again, Marcus couldn’t help but laugh. She got jealous because he was doing his job, silly bint. “She wanted an autograph and was willing to pay good monies for it. You know we’re not allowed to say no.”

 

“On her chest?” Katie asked heatedly.

 

“She shoved them in my face,” he shot back.

 

Katie steered her broom closer until they were nose to nose. The crowd around them burst out in catcalls and loud cheers.

 

“You could’ve shoved her off.” She emphasised each word by jabbing her finger hard in his chest. “Admit it; you were enjoying yourself too much to push her off. Or think of me.”

 

Feeling his temper rise, Marcus swatted her hand away. “I would’ve pushed her off if you’d given me the chance.”

 

“Chance? You had your face buried between her tits, you arsehole. How long were you gonna wait?”

 

“She shoved them in my face!” Marcus repeated through gritted teeth. “You showed up before I knew what was happening. Honest.”

 

Which was the truth. One moment the Brown woman had asked for an autograph, offering a large donation for it, and the next, he had found himself in the dark with his air supply cut off. Marcus knew he had his faults, but he wasn’t the straying kind. And even if he was, he wasn’t that much of a tool to do it in public, with Katie just a few steps away from him.

 

“Excuses, excuses,” Katie dismissed. Still, Marcus was sure she didn’t sound as convinced as before.

 

“Why would I want her when I have you?” he asked quietly, and tentatively laid his gloved hand over hers. “You’re more than enough for me, love.”

 

She seemed to mull over his words as her eyes flitted between him and her broom handle. Eventually, her lips curled up into a faint smile. “Well, Lavender’s prettier…” she trailed off as she eyed him from underneath her lashes, waiting for him to muck up.

 

Having fallen into that trap one too many times before, Marcus vehemently shook his head. “You’re the prettiest, smartest, and most talented girl I know. No one can hold a candle against you.”

 

Katie’s smile grew into a mile-wide grin. “You’re just saying-”

 

“Flint!” two loud voices cut her off.

 

“Wot?” Katie and Marcus bellowed simultaneously, angered by the interruption.

 

Gwenog Jones, the Harpies Captain, as well as Aron Cadwalader, the Tornadoes Captain, flew up to them. Neither looked all too happy or amused.

 

“Well, any progress?” Cadwalader asked. When both Chasers merely stared at him with blank expressions, he let out a deep sigh and pointed at the enchanted mistletoe above their heads that had appeared a half hour earlier, effectively halting the match. He let out another deep sigh when neither responded to his not-so-subtle hint and turned to Marcus. “Kiss your wife so when can get this idiocy over with, you great git.”

 

“Oi!” Katie snapped, waggling a gloved finger in Cadwalader’s face. “Who do you think you are talking to my Marcus like that?”

 

“Oh, bloody hell, woman,” Jones said sourly. “Stop being such a stubborn arse and do what you need to do so we can get this match over with.”

 

“Hey, don’t talk to her in that tone,” Marcus snarled as he puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. Behind him, Katie nodded vigorously, her glare still fixed on Cadwalader.

 

“I’m her Captain, and I’ll talk to her in every way I see fit.”

 

“She’s right,” Cadwalader chimed in. Still, his confidence wavered when Katie began growling at him, baring her teeth very much in the way her husband often did. To be safe, he steered his broomstick a little further back. Marcus Flint was absolutely mental on the best of days, and that was when he was on his own. Cadwalader didn’t think he’d survive if the two Flints decided to gang up on him. When he was sure that he was at a safe enough distance, he cleared his throat and said, “If you two would just, uhm-”

 

“Mind your own business, you prissy little prick,” Katie interjected. “Besides, we’re on time-out, you can’t tell us what to do.”

 

“Yeah, what she said.” Roaring with laughter, Marcus held out his hand to his wife for a low-five.

 

Flustered by the Chasers, Cadwalader turned to Gwenog Jones in hopes she’d speak up or, at least, take some of the heat off him. Unfortunately, the other Captain was too busy taking deep calming breaths whilst pinching the bridge of her nose. After what felt like a lifetime, she finally looked up at him with an ever so slight nod. It looked like it was up to him to do the dirty work.

 

“Fine, you two have ninety seconds before the time-out is over. You better resolve whatever the problem is by then because this match will resume whether you’re ready or not. Don’t count on the Beaters to protect either of you from Bludgers or other players. Understood?” Cadwalader pointed at the mistletoe and again, both Chasers stared at him with those infuriating blank expressions. “Kiss and make up, dammit!”

 

As the two Captain flew off in the direction of the referee, Katie and Marcus turned to each other.

 

“What do you reckon got his knickers in a knot?” Katie asked.

 

“Probably his monthlies,” was Marcus’s answered knowingly as he steered his broom closer to her until they hovered side by side. Although he wouldn’t mind taking the piss out their Captains for a bit longer, they were given direct orders to follow. He lifted his eyes up to the mistletoe floating above their heads. “So, uh, let’s get this over with yeah? Mam said she’d start supper at five with or without us.”

 

“Yeah, let’s do this.” She reached up to him, intently studying his face as if she was searching for something. “I don’t want Lavender near you again. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t share.”

 

“I know, and done.” Marcus leant in, his lips already puckered to kiss. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled back, scowling. “Same goes for you as well.”

 

“What? Stay away from Lavender?”

 

“Wood,” Marcus hissed.

 

“Don’t worry about him. He’d rather go after you if given a chance,” Katie answered cheekily.

 

“I’m not a complete tool, love. I know he prefers me over you, but I also happen to know that he swings both ways. My point still stands.”

 

Her smug grin faltered, and as she grabbed the front of his robes to pull him closer, she hissed, “Ollie stays away from both of us then. I don’t share.”

 

“Good girl. Now, kiss me so we can get this day over with. I’m famished.”

 

“Why don’t you kiss me?”

 

“You emptied a glass of wine over my head. I’m the scorned party here.”

 

“Marcus,” Katie growled in warning, which usually helped her get her way. Today, though, it was of no use. Unmoving, Marcus merely smirked at her. Somewhere in the distance, the referee blew his whistle, resuming the match. And just like Cadwalader had warned, a Bludger zoomed over their heads in high speed mere seconds later.

 

“What’s it gonna be, love?”

 

“Fine, come here, you big baby.” She grabbed the front of his robes again, pulling him as close as possible against her body. She wanted to stay angry, but that lopsided grin of his had a way of making her heart flutter.

 

She brushed her lips against his, innocent at first but growing passionate and fiercer as the seconds ticked away. It was a promise of more to come later, in the privacy of their bedroom. Or kitchen, the living was an option, too. Maybe, they could christen the garden shed like he’d promised a few days ago. When his hands grabbed her bum, squeezing it to the delight of the crowd around them, she reckoned that she ought to end it, tell Marcus that they were giving away a free show.

 

“My Katie,” he whispered as they broke free, their foreheads still touching.

 

“I love you, silly man,” she murmured, pulling him down with her just in time to avoid getting hit by a Bludger.

 

“You better, witch.” He looked up. The enchanted mistletoe had finally vanished. He placed a kiss on her forehead and steered his broom to resume his position in the match.

 

“Get ready to get your arse kicked, Flint!” Katie called after him.

 

Marcus let out a boisterous laughter as he kicked the Harpies other Chaser, Wilda Griffiths, from her broom and took the Quaffle from her. “Not even in your wildest dreams, love. Wait for me by the locker rooms later, yeah?”

 

“Sodding bastard,” Katie muttered fondly as she watched him score. She'd give him that one for free because it was going to be the only goal he’d make today as far as she was concerned.

 

Merlin, how she loved that man.


End file.
